I'll Be Home for Christmas
by EvanescingSky
Summary: Ivan Braginski eagerly awaits the return of his American sweetheart Amelia from Afghanistan in time for Christmas, but it seems she might not be able to make it back this year. (Human AU)


AN: Inspired by the popular Christmas song "I'll be Home for Christmas". Usually it's thought of as the girl waiting for her man to come home and I almost wrote that, but these days there are plenty of men out there waiting for their girls and it wouldn't be fair to have them go unrepresented.

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I'll Be Home for Christmas

"Ivan?" Amelia's voice was hesitant, even tentative over the phone. It wasn't like her and Ivan felt a fist clench his gut. He gripped the phone tighter, crushing it to his ear.

"Da, Amelia?"

"Look...I know I promised but...I don't think..." She trailed off and left Ivan writhing in horrible anticipation for several agonizing seconds. "I don't think I'll be home for Christmas Big Guy." On the other end of the phone, Ivan froze. Amelia bit her lip, hearing only his silence and knowing how much she was disappointing him. She looked off at the bustle of the crowd outside her small phone booth and scratched at the side of the apparatus. "I'm really sorry Ivan...But we're just too busy...There are still things we have to do. And we won't be done by Christmas."

The only reply was Ivan's soft breathing until at last he said, "I understand."

"I'm really sorry hun," Amelia went on, filling Ivan's silence with more apologies, desperate to hear more of his voice, to hear him say something, anything of real meaning. "I tried, I really did."

"I believe you." His voice was hollow and he knew he was causing her pain and guilt, so he cleared his throat and managed a wobbly smile, even though she couldn't see. "It will be okay...you will be home next time, da? Maybe for Easter, or summer?" He gave a weak laugh, hoping to sound more carefree than he felt. "Go be the hero...I will wait for you."

Amelia gave a smile, but she looked more like someone had just thrust a knife into her gut.

"Yeah...maybe Easter," she said quietly, her voice rasping a bit more than usual. "Ah...I have to go, Big Guy. The other girls have calls to make too. Bye, Ivan...Merry Christmas! Love you."

Hanging up the phone in the cradle, Amelia stepped back out into the warm, sandy winds of the Afghan city, rejoining the rest of her company on the side walk where they transportation to the next city. They had agreed to take turns with the phone, to try to reach home, though some unlucky women landed the voicemail and exited quicker than the rest, stoically hiding their crestfallen expressions.

"Goodbye Amelia-!" Ivan heard the click of the phone hand up and felt something let go inside. Drooping forward like a wilted plant, he rested his elbows on the dark gray marble countertop, flecked with black. "Merry Christmas," he whispered into the dead phoneline. "I love you too."

Without the promise of his sweetheart returning home, suddenly nothing else seemed worthwhile. The Christmas decorations he had spent so long carefully arranging them (Knowing Amelia would knock them out of place about as soon as she stepped in the door) seemed to mock him with their cheery look. They belonged in a house with a happy family sitting around a fireplace, reading books or singing Christmas carols. Looking in on lonely, strange old Ivan drinking a bottle of vodka and waiting for his girl to come home from war, or whatever the hell it was that was going on over there, they seemed out of place enough to be insulting.

He had to admit, sometimes he hated America. Hated that country for getting involved and for taking Amelia away from him. Here in Russia, she would have been fine. But before he could catch her hand, and ask her to return to Russia with him now that she was done with school and he with his work there, she had got it into her crazy blonde head to enlist. And so here he was, back in Russia, with no Amelia. He had even agreed to celebrate Christmas early, on Amelia's date, December 25th. He had gotten everything ready a month early, and now it was going to sit there and jeer at him until after January, when he could finally lock it all back up in the garage.

He slammed the phone back into its charger and shambled over to the fridge. He took a long drink from an open bottle of vodka and then hesitated. Letting out a long sigh, he put it back and closed the fridge. If he wasn't going to be fetching Amelia from the airport, he might as well go shopping. Yekaterina and Natalia still needed Christmas gifts.

Ivan had hoped that outside, away from his gaily decorated house, he might get some peace, but it was not so. The world seemed determined to stick its fingers into the hole in his heart and wriggle them around until all he could think about was Amelia and her missing presence by his side. He'd forgotten how to properly focus without her chatter filling up his ears, her hands tugging at his scarf, his jacket, trying to get him to pay more attention to her, her lips sneaking kisses when he really was lost in thought. That was a surefire way to get him to come back to Earth.

One would think that the longer she was away, the more Ivan would get used to the emptiness, be able to deal with it, but such was not the case. He felt her absence as acutely now as he had the first day he'd flown back to Moscow alone. Even work, engaging as it was, was no long-term distraction from the solitude at home. He worked extra hours, in hopes of filling some of that hole, but it only seemed to grow more cavernous with each day. Some nights he lay awake and wondered if Amelia was real at all, or if he was just waiting on some dream that was never going to return to his grasp. But he had to believe. He had to trust this thing, because if he didn't...then he would merely go back to being alone. And he didn't think he could bear that.

The rest of the week passed without incident and Christmas Eve saw Ivan sitting by a toasty fire in the living room, slouched in his favorite armchair with a bottle of vodka, staring at the Christmas tree, a hateful gleam in his eye. He'd waited so long for a girl like Amelia, for one who accepted him despite all his quirks and oddities. And at first they had had their rough periods...but when things feel into place, it all just...clicked. And it didn't matter that Amelia was much younger than Ivan, or that she was a patriotic American and he was merely on extended business from Russia, or even that her older brother, a stand-in for the father she no longer possessed, vehemently disliked Ivan and the thought of them being together. His grip around the vodka bottle tightened until his nails scratched the glass. Of course. Of course the universe would drop Amelia, shining, scintillating, cheerful, sweet little Amelia into his lap, and then snatch her away. Of course.

Taking a long drink from his bottle, he realized he couldn't spend one more second inside this stiffling old house. He set the bottle aside, stuffed his feet into his boots, buttoned up his jacket and took the front steps two at a time. He needed a walk. Just to get out of here, for a little while. Outside snow drifts were building as the Russian winter began to kick into gear. Snowflakes fell softly from the sky, forming a muffling blanket around everything, encasing him in silence. His breathed billowed from his mouth, oozing out from the edge of his scarf to trail out into the fridgid air. It was as though he were the only one in the world.

Amelia had been racing like crazy to get to Ivan's house as soon as humanly possible. She'd never been there before, but she had the address and as soon as she could hail a cabbie from the airport, she leaped into the front seat and thrust the paper into his face, demanding to be taken there. When she pulled up, the lights were off. She could see a few strands of white Christmas lights strung up, but they weren't lit up. She ran up the steps, slipping on the icy stone and nearly falling. Flinging open the door, she tossed her bags aside with a few thuds and bolted to the living room, where the Christmas tree was set up and lit, but Ivan was nowhere to be seen. A half-finished vodka bottle sat on the side table.

"Ivan?" she called. She hurried to the kitchen, but Ivan was not there either. She rushed up the stairs, her combat boots thumping heavily against the steps. "Ivan! Ivan I'm home! It's Amelia! Hey, Captain Commie!" Her own little nickname for him, a jab at the past between their countries. She flung open door after door, her heartbeat rising. Ivan wasn't here. Where could he be? Unsure what to do know, but desperate to find Ivan as quickly as possible, she sprinted back down the stairs and burst through the front door, running headlong into her missing love and knocking them both bodily down onto the snowy front path.

Ivan lay beneath her, groaning and rubbing the back of his head. He opened his eyes and saw her big, bright blue soul-windows gazing back at him.

"Ivan!" she cried, her face lighting up. He just stared at Amelia in shock as she rolled off of him and grabbed his hand, pulling the big man back up to his feet. "It's me, silly, Amelia!"

"Amelia..." He repeated her name as though it were a new word he had never heard before and continued to stand there motionless, unable to believe she was really here. And then it hit him, like a snowball to the face. His whole countenance changed, the gloom evanescing, a smile stretching across his pale visage. He grabbed her and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. "Amelia! You are home! I missed you!"

Amelia laughed and replied as best she could from where her face was crushed against Ivan's chest.

"Missed you too, Big Guy," she said, rubbing his back. He released her from his bear hug and held her out at arm's length a moment, to see if she had changed, before he drew her in closer and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. Since Amelia had been with him, he had always been very gentle with her, aware that he did not always wield his strength with a full knowledge of its power and terrified to hurt or frighten her. But this time, Amelia was having none of that. She threw her arms around his neck (though she had to stretch onto her tip-toes to do it) and gave him the most passionate kiss she could muster, wanting to make up for all the ones they'd missed in the time she'd been gone.

Ivan pulled her into his arms, relaxing to the very tips of his soul because it felt so RIGHT, so right to have her here, leaning against his chest, her warm self nestled in his arms. He held her tightly and buried his face in her shoulder and neck, breathing in the smell of her, feeling her short blonde hair tickle his face.

"I missed you too," she murmured again, her right hand rubbing soft circles on his back. Ivan closed his eyes, wanting to feel this moment with every fiber of his being. Sight was not necessary for that. But when he opened them, she was gone. He froze, disoriented and looked around. No...she was gone. In fact...he was still sitting in his armchair. There was the Christmas tree, sitting by the fire, which was just embers by now. The clock told him that it was around three in the morning. The vodka bottle was still clutched in his right hand.

For several moments all he could do was stare at the treacherous room, as though it were responsible for his false reunion with Amelia. Slowly, ever so slowly, Ivan rose from his seat, feeling as though he were a thousand years old. He set his vodka bottle aside and made for the Christmas tree. Gripping the cord, he yanked it free from the wall socket like it had done him a personal wrong. In the dark, he shuffled up the stairs and collapsed onto his bed. Against his will, a soft whimper escaped his lips. Hugging a pillow to his cheek, he closed his eyes. Maybe then he would get to feel Amelia's soft breath on his neck again, feel her warm lips touch his, hear her voice laugh and laugh...

Amelia too, all those miles away, jolted awake from the dream, actually reaching her hands forward, as though she could still grasp Ivan as he faded from her view. Rising from her bed, she crept past her fellow sleeping soliders and out into the warm night air, pausing only to tug on her combat boots. She looked up at the sky, awash in stars and felt a deep ache in her heart. She wondered if, so many miles away in far-off Russia, Ivan was thinking of her.

"I'll be home next year, Ivan," she promised in a quiet whisper, closing her eyes briefly and savoring the last vestiges of her dream. A gentle breeze stirred her cropped locks and a powerful longing swept over her as she repeated the same promise she had made for the past four years.

I'll be home for Christmas...if only in my dreams.


End file.
